After the War
by Wildly Obsessed
Summary: Chapter 4 now up Paris survived the sacking of Troy and is brought back to Greece as a slave. From there he meets a slave girl who teaches him how to cast away his stubborness to survive.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story is based on both the book and the movie, it takes parts of both so might be a bit confusing. Menelaus was not killed in this version, nor was Paris.

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Paris survived the sacking of Troy, though his country and family were destroyed. He had fought bravely but it was in vain. Troy could not be saved. Paris was not killed; the Spartans thought it would be amusing to keep the former Prince around as a slave.

Paris was now 'owned' by a wealthy royal family. He fought against it but eventually caved, he decided his life was worth more than his freedom. Paris was never exactly an obedient person and the past events did nothing to alleviate matters. It made things much worse when Paris discovered an unpleasant fact: Helen was back with Menelaus. It turned out that the two were friends with the family Paris was forced to serve. On Helen and Menelaus's first visit, Helen had looked directly into Paris's eyes without registering any pity or love. She was all over Menelaus. It was revolting to watch…Paris couldn't refrain from spitting on the king.

The moment Paris unwisely spat on him, Menelaus roared and kicked him. One of the royals whom Paris served whipped him straight across the back and ordered him to fetch a drink. Paris looked upon the lot with contempt and spoke defiantly, "Fetch it yourself."

That got him another flurry of whips. By the time the royals had stopped, Paris could not stand up to leave.

"Ayrnessa!" called the cruel man of royal blood.

A petite girl, dressed in shabby robes, scurried out.

"Take him away," the man ordered.

The girl looked at Paris and bent down to help him up. With her help, Paris limped away, into the cramped quarters that had been allotted for them.

"You must be new," the girl said, looking upon Paris with pity. "We should clean those wounds." Paris nodded in assent as the girl helped him out of his dirty shirt. His back was covered with raw outlines of blood. "What did you do!" she exclaimed.

"I spat on Menelaus." Paris answered smugly. "And I told them to fetch their own drinks."

"I wouldn't be overly proud! Do that another few times and it'll be a dead body I'm sent to remove!" she said.

"You speak as if you've been a slave for a long time," Paris commented.

"I have been. I have never known freedom, as it is." The girl told him.

"You've been a slave your whole life?" Paris exclaimed.

"Yes. My mother died after giving birth to me, and my father lost his money so he sold my elder brother and me to make money. My brother is seven years older than myself and so we were kept together for six years so that he could take care of me. When I turned six, the family we served sold me to another family. I have not seen my brother since. I know not if he even continues to walk on this earth." The girl muttered with great contempt. She poured some water on his back, causing him to wince and recoil.

"That is horrible," Paris said sincerely, "I have had experience with parents who care more about their own well-being than their children's. It was prophesied that I would be the cause of my parent's downfall and so they sent me away to be killed. As chance would have it, I survived." He said, referring to his childhood trauma. "My name is Paris."

"Ayrnessa." The girl responded, putting bandages on Paris's back. "I suppose we all have to learn to fend for ourselves."

"How did you manage?" Paris asked her. "Being a slave for so long?"

"I've not known anything else. You get used to it. You learn to obey and keep your hatred to yourself, or you don't last." Ayrnessa stated. "You speak boldly as if you have never needed to obey before, where are you from? What were you before?"

Paris hesitated. It was obvious that this slave girl had no idea of what his heritage was and he did not want to change that fact so quickly. "I am from Troy." He answered simply.

"A prisoner of war," Ayrnessa spoke softly. She finished with the bandages and handed him a clean shirt.

"AYRNESSA!" the familiar royal voice yelled.

"Well, Paris of Troy, I shall see you shortly, I'm sure. In the meantime, take care which words you let slip by the whip holders and if you wish to live, do not insult another king!" Ayrnessa smiled, giving Paris a pat on the shoulder.

"AYRNESSA, NOW!"

"COMING, MY LORD!" Ayrnessa called before disappearing out the door.

Paris watched her leave and closed his eyes. How did it come to be like this?


	2. Chapter 2

Paris lay on a bed of straw, with rags to cover him. He was cold and uncomfortable. He had never had to endure less than exquisite conditions and this change shocked and severely dismayed the former prince.

As he attempted to find sleep, memories of his brother Hector's final moments haunted him, as did the screams of the Trojans as fire broke out all over the city. Paris had risked and sacrificed all he had for his love; how could it be that she was back with Menelaus? How could she act as if she had never cared for him? Was all the suffering and loss meaningless? Paris had lost everything, right down to his own father and he didn't even get Helen. How could he have been such a fool?

_"Before you came to Sparta, I was a ghost. I walked and I ate and I swam in the sea…I was just a ghost." Helen spoke softly, looking with deep pools of sadness into Paris's eyes._

_"You don't have to fear tomorrow. Come with me!" Paris had proclaimed._

_"Don't play with me, don't play." Helen pleaded, downcast._

"If you come, we'll never be safe. Men will hunt us, the Gods will curse us, but I'll love you! Until the day they burn my body, I will love you!" Paris promised comfortingly.

Paris woke with a start. The touch of Helen's skin was so vivid… "I KEPT MY PROMISE!" Paris shouted in a fury, running his hands through his matted hair in grief. "I SAID I'D LOVE YOU AND I STILL DO!"

"Shhh…if you wake up the 'all mighty ones', there'll be hell to pay," Ayrnessa whispered, running into his room, if you could call it that.

"Where did you?" Paris asked.

"The slaves all have sections in this area, I sleep just over there," she explained. "I am pleading with you, do not raise your voice, if you do they will punish us all."

Paris grunted in response and rubbed his tired eyes dispiritedly.

"Many of those like you, those who were not always slaves, have nightmares of their past lives. I wish I could tell you the pain lessens but I think I'm better off not knowing the luxuries some of you have had." Ayrnessa spoke quietly. "Did she die? The woman you dreamt of?"

"No. She left me to die and snatched glory for herself," Paris answered bitterly. "I gave up my world and everyone and everything in it for her and she left me. I nearly gave up my own life to save hers and she doesn't even pay heed."

"Seems as if you are better off without her." She said.

Paris stood up and glared at her. "I was with my wife for ten years! She left me for another man!"

"I mean no offense, but do you truly mean to tell me that you were faithful for the entire span of ten years?" Ayrnessa questioned, raising her eyebrows.

"What a man does and what a woman does are completely different!" Paris roared.

"Quiet," Ayrnessa muttered hastily. She gave a slightly wry smile before continuing, "It is amazing how some people believe that a man may bed multiple women every night while still being a wonderful husband to one, while a woman, the moment she so much as embraces a man she is unrelated to, is considered a whore."

Paris gaped at Ayrnessa. "That is the way things are!"

"Lovely. You're one of _those_ men." Ayrnessa rolled her eyes. "It is doubtful you will sleep well, but nonetheless, I wish you a pleasant night and all of that which is polite."

"How dare you speak to me in such a fashion!" Paris exclaimed.

"We're both slaves right now, Paris. I can address you in any fashion I please. It matters not if you were of high class in your previous years," Ayrnessa told him, taking her leave.

Paris gaped angrily after her and threw himself back down on his makeshift bed. He had never in his life been spoken to in that manner. A slave girl showing him such little respect…! No woman had ever treated him any worse than they would a God… Even if he was no longer a prince, wouldn't his looks help him keep that treatment?


	3. Chapter 3

Paris was still stewing the next morning. He always was more than a little on the spoiled side and the mere fact that he was busy cleaning the dining room that morning did nothing to stop him from being as moody as he normally would have been. This did not bode well for the former prince. Rude slaves are not often welcomed. In that morning alone, Paris had garnered yet another four whippings. Ayrnessa looked on with mild amusement and finally spoke to him after the fourth whipping.

"These people can have access to many other slaves, Paris. Throwing a temper tantrum will simply cause them to dispose of you and move on. Your life is meaningless to them." She told him. He gave her a disgruntled look. "Oh, stop behaving like an insolent little child and cooperate!"

"They won't dispose of me however badly I behave," Paris spat out vehemently. "They will take great pleasure in torturing me, stripping me of what dignity I have left, but they would never kill me. Much as I would want it. No, they know death is the escape I have been praying for. Death would be merciful. These people are cruel. They will force me to live through this pathetic existence for as long as they can. It is amusing for them to see my suffering."

"How arrogant you are," Ayrnessa answered severely, "Though I know not of your former status, they have multitudes of formerly royal slaves. They can replace you, be you a king or not."

"Arrogance? You do not understand." Paris glared shortly. "I am irreplaceable. There is none other on this earth like me."

"Arrogance is too weak a word to describe you," the girl snorted. "Well, then, if you are so confident that you will live, I'm sure those whippings are not exactly soothing. Even if they don't kill you they can still make your life miserable if you give them an excuse to. They have ways of inflicting pain worse than death itself. It is best to just do what you are told, do not make trouble and perhaps they will forget about you for a time. You are safest when they are not aware of your existence."

"I am not arrogant!" Paris hissed. "And how little dignity must you have, girl? You are saying to just be quiet and be good, what sort of life is that? To go down without fighting? To give up and surrender to these beasts? My life is already miserable! I wish for death each day. I will not do their bidding willingly."

"You have a strong spirit." Ayrnessa observed. It was not said to be a compliment. She looked grave as she spoke. "That is unfortunate for you." Her voice softened as she continued, "They love strong spirits. Spirits can be broken. They adore in the breaking, they adore in the slow removal of spark and fight. They adore to see the spirit lost. I pity those who come with strong spirits."

"You are weak. You settle into this horrible life without complaint, without struggle. Do you have no self-respect, girl?" Paris shook his head.

"Do not call me 'girl' like the holders of the whips do. I have a name. Use it. I am not beneath you so kindly desist in looking at me as if I am some sort of vermin. And, dear boy, I settle into this life without struggle because I have seen what happens to those who do not! Do not stand there and mock me, do not stand there and criticize me as if I am some infant. I choose life. I choose to have as little suffering as is possible. I use my head, Paris. If you perceive this as weakness than so be it. I'll be weak as you get whipped. Yes, you must be so strong, so dignified, to throw yourself and beg for whippings. I was trying to help you. I did not want to see another one suffer so. But clearly my help is not wanted. Clearly you do not wish to live in as much peace as can be garnered. I have been a slave my entire life. And I know that I will live much longer than any of you fools who cling to your former glory. I have more dignity than you will ever have." Ayrnessa responded coldly. Paris's eyes blazed and upon hearing those words he struck out at the girl, slapping her across the cheek with enough force to propel her backwards and to the floor. She stifled a gasp of pain but her eyes hardened. Her cheek bright red, she could feel that he had ripped through skin and a thin layer of blood now coated her face.

One of the nearby royals strolling past the dining room paused and saw the occurrence. In the next moment, Paris was kneeling on the floor, getting a fifth whipping across the back.

"Fights between slaves are troublesome. Do play nicely and do not start trouble!" the woman of royal lineage reprimanded. She turned to Ayrnessa. "Child, are you well?" Ayrnessa nodded. The woman inspected her cheek and gave a curt nod and said, "Ayrnessa, you are a valued slave. Do not attempt to befriend such difficult vermin. If he gives you trouble once more, find me and I'll be sure to teach him the error of his ways." She smiled tightly at Ayrnessa, gave Paris another look of disgust, and continued on her way.

"Ah, Paris. Perhaps I did not mention this. In my twelve years of serving this particular palace, my cooperativeness and silent obedience has lead me to be somewhat of a pet in the eyes of a few of the royals. I do hope you will be able to dress those fresh wounds yourself." Ayrnessa spoke before turning her back on him and taking in a few dishes to the kitchen.

Paris winced from his position on the ground and managed to give another dirty look at Ayrnessa. Five whippings in one morning was not pleasant and with his only acquaintance upset with him, his wounds would not be cleaned. He had not meant to lose his temper but the girl had a way of provoking him. Stupid girl.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** It's been too long since I worked on this, I'm sorry! I actually had the first half of this going on since right after I finished chapter three but I was hit with writer's block for a looong time. Thanks for the reviews, I hope they keep coming!

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Despite his anger at her, Paris still felt a bit guilty for hurting Ayrnessa. He had struck her quite hard. She had helped him and truly was only attempting to protect him… Paris supposed he should check if she was all right. Her comments remained on his mind, though, and they would not fade anytime soon. Paris had always been one to hold grudges, most especially when it came to insults on his courage, strength, intelligence, and appearance. Ever since he had humiliated his entire country by fleeing from Menelaus, he had always been extra touché when it came to jabs at his competence as a warrior. People simply did not insult him that often, especially people of lower class than him. If he had still been prince, Paris quite possibly could have ordered Ayrnessa's execution. At the very least, he would have had her whipped.

"But she isn't of lower class anymore." Paris reminded himself out loud. With a heavy sigh, he picked up the rag he had been polishing with and stood up. He strode back to the slave quarters and spotted Ayrnessa kneeling on the floor, looking somewhat frail.

"Ayrnessa? What are doing? Are you well?" Paris frowned, crouching to her level.

She immediately straightened and stood up. "I'm fine. What do you want?"

"I wanted to ensure that you were well," Paris said uncertainly, "I'm sorry for hitting you."

"Are you really or are you simply sorry that you got whipped for doing it?" she answered.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." He told her. Paris took a step closer and gingery brushed his finger against the cut on her cheek. Ayrnessa backed away instantly and looked away.

"I have to set up the bath for the Princess." Ayrnessa stated, walking out of the shabby room.

"I'm sorry-!" Paris repeated, louder, as he followed her out. "Ayrnessa! I was wrong, all right? Stop being so stubborn!"

"Rather rich coming from you," she muttered. "You really are no different than the whippers. Did you have slaves, when you were royalty?"

"I still am royalty. Even though I may not have a country to rule now, my bloodline did not suddenly change. I still have royal blood in me. And yes, I had slaves." Paris replied defensively.

"Did you have them executed when they refused to do your bidding? Did you feel unsettled at all when you made their lives a hell? Even after having the roles reversed, were you to be respected and worshipped once more, would you still have slaves, still treat them with brutality? In the present, do you wish to be on the other side again, caring only of yourself and not remembering that at least a few of the slaves you once whipped were quite likely to be in your very same position? Paris, how many lives have you crumpled thoughtlessly?" Ayrnessa asked heatedly. Without waiting for him to respond, she left the room and briskly walked down the hall and out of sight.

Paris frowned at her retreating figure and felt another surge of frustration rise up in him. He rarely apologized as it was, but he didn't think he had ever offered a sincere apology to a woman, aside from his mother, in his life. Paris was not angry with the girl…instead, he found himself simply wanting to be liked by her. She was the only one who had attempted to befriend him so far, and the only woman who had spoken to him without wanting to bed him.

He didn't get a chance to see the girl again until that night. He strode into the area he knew she slept in and found her lying curled up, resembling the fetus position. The moment he walked in, she jerked up and quickly turned to see who had come in. The expression on her face was unmistakably one of fear, quickly turning to relief when she saw it was Paris.

"What do you want?" her voice sounded was so quiet that Paris had to kneel down beside her to hear her.

"Are you well?" he frowned. Something was truly off with her.

"Paris, what do you want?" she closed her eyes.

"Did I wake you?" Paris chose to ask instead of answering.

"No," Ayrnessa admitted.

"Then why were you lying like that?" he questioned.

"Never mind." She shrugged, sitting up and pulling her knees up to her chest.

"Are you still upset with me?" he peered carefully at her.

"What do you care?" she bristled.

"You're the only kind person I've come across here. I didn't mean to hurt you." Paris sighed. "I wanted to thank you for trying to help me earlier, and to see if you may still want to be friends."

"We can talk about this tomorrow." She dismissed him and laid down again with her back to Paris.

"Why not now?" he demanded.

"Because you're a stubborn man who needs to learn that you can't have anything you want." She snapped. "I'm tired, leave me be!"

"What happened to you?" Paris gingerly cupped her chin and turned her face so that she was facing him.

"It's not your problem." She quietly answered, "Please, just go."

"As you wish." He said dubiously, "But-"

"Thank you for your concern." She interrupted him in a very final manner. "I hope you don't get nightmares tonight."

"I hope so too." Paris stood up and with one last look at her, left.

That night, it wasn't Paris who couldn't sleep well. He had dropped off to sleep only to be awoken a while later by the sound of soft whimpering. He thought it was a figment of his imagination at first, but upon carefully listening for a few moments, he realized it was real. Paris sat up and frowned, trying to locate where the noise came from. He stood up and slowly walked towards where he thought it came from and realized with a surprise that it was Ayrnessa.

She was still curled up with her back to him, but he could see that small sobs were shaking from her.

Paris strode over to her and lightly put his hand on her shoulder. "Ayrnessa. Ayrnessa, it's all right-"

The moment his hand touched her she jumped and let out a strangled yelp. "NO!" The shaking increased ten fold as she slowly turned to see who was touching her.

"It's only me!" Paris hastily reassured her upon seeing the increased fright he had given her.

"Paris?" she questioned.

"Yes." He nodded, running a comforting hand up and down her arms, which were still trembling. "Why are you crying?"

"Did I wake you?" she asked ruefully. "I didn't think I was that loud."

"I wasn't sleeping well, anyways." He brushed that off. Stroking her tear stained face he repeated, "Tell me why you're so upset."

"Bad dream." She said, smiling slightly as she struggled into a sitting position. Thinking to himself that it must have been a really horrible dream for her to be so affected, Paris gave her shoulder a squeeze.

"You are awake now." He soothed. "Don't worry." Paris felt sincerely bad for the girl, who suddenly looked so much more fragile and innocent than she had in all the time he had known her. The terror that still remained on Ayrnessa's face caused Paris to drop any grudge or anything else that had been holding him back. It didn't matter if they hardly knew each other and so far did not like each other that much, from one human to another, he wanted to calm her. Cautiously, Paris hugged her, not wanting her to take the gesture as anything other than him trying to comfort her. He was surprised when she hugged him back, and clung tightly to him as if trying to reassure herself that whatever it was that had plagued her was gone.

"Thank you." She said after a moment and with a sniffle, she pulled back from him.

"Are you all right, now?" he questioned. "What was so horrible that it made you cry?"

"Don't ask." She shuddered and rubbed her face. "I'm fine, go back to sleep."

"We have to be up in not too long, anyways." He shook his head. "I don't trust you to stay here in this dark wretched place by yourself."

"I am sixteen." She flatly responded. "And I've done quite well without your help for all these years, I think I can sleep by myself."

"I didn't mean to insult you." Paris backtracked. "I just do not want you to stay here by yourself to be trapped with the lingering thoughts of nightmares…to be haunted, as it were. It's the loneliest thing in the world to lay there in the dark, thinking about all the things that are wrong, being scared with no one there to tell you it's not real. Trapped in some reality you've never seen before."

"I see you've had a lot of experience." She raised her eyebrows.

"I should not have turned away your help earlier, Ayrnessa. If you let me back in, we don't have to be alone anymore, either of us. We can get through our nightmares, deal with these demons, together. You don't have to cry here by yourself." Paris softly said.

"What happened to the fact that you were royalty and were too good for my help?" she looked up at him.

"I got over it." Paris smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"I'm still mad at you." She told him.

"I won't hit you again, to that I promise." He swore.

"Break that promise and this is done." Ayrnessa warned.

"I won't." Paris assured her. "I told you what I was dreaming about-"

"I'm not ready." She interrupted quietly. "I don't want to think about it, I don't want to deal with it."

"All right." Paris rubbed her shoulder and repeated, "Remember, they are just dreams."

"No… no they're not." Ayrnessa confessed softly and with much pain. She began to shake again and a few tears slid down silently down her cheeks. Paris held her and wanted to protect her from whatever unseen force was making her so desperately in pain. He didn't question her further, accepting that many things would take time. He understood that she wasn't emotionally ready. Paris couldn't help but wonder though, what it was that had changed her from the stubborn and strong girl he had known into this crying heap he now held.


End file.
